


Awfully Hard Work

by lyricalballads



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Backstory, Gen, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalballads/pseuds/lyricalballads
Summary: How Jonathan Carnahan ruined his career.
Relationships: Jonathan Carnahan & Evy Carnahan O'Connell
Kudos: 3





	Awfully Hard Work

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on fanfiction.net on 09/28/2011, and then took it down a year or so later because I wasn’t satisfied with it. This has now been revised and I like it a little better. It was originally titled _A Man’s Got To Have His Fun_ and then I changed the title to _Good Riddance_ and now I have changed it yet again (hopefully for the last time).

_It is awfully hard work doing nothing. However, I don't mind hard work where there is no definite object of any kind._  
\- The Picture of Dorian Gray

::

You know, I don't believe I was cut out for the working world.

I'm _far_ more suited to the world of leisure and would have gladly spent the rest of my days playing cards with my old school chums, or perhaps playing golf (a fine sport, as it doesn't involve any running), but my gambling debts became a bit, well... _unmanageable_ , I suppose. And those drinks down at the pub certainly don't pay for themselves. And Evy was simply furious when she found out I was spending hours at the racetrack placing bets on the horses when I should have been "making something useful of myself." Thought she'd have a bloody heart attack when this shifty little Egyptian fellow appeared on the doorstep demanding money.

Good Lord, you should have seen the look on my sister's face _that_ day. Still haunts me in my sleep sometimes.

"This is the last straw, Jonathan!" Evy cried after the shifty fellow had been chased away (without the money, I'll have you know, after the scolding Evy gave _him_ ). "I've made plenty of allowances for you over the years, but enough is enough. You've done nothing but drink and gamble away our father's money and bring disgrace to the family and I... I simply won't have it!"

She said a good deal of other things as well, but I stopped listening by that point.

"Oh, come now, old mum," I tried in my most wheedlesome tone. "A man's got to have his fun now and then, and—"

"No, Jonathan," Evy interrupted, a dangerous flash in her eyes. "I'm doing what I should have done ages ago. I'm making you get a _job_."

She pronounced that last word quite ominously—rather spookily, in fact—as if she had just sentenced me to the gallows.

Now what the devil had I done to deserve a bloody job, of all things? My sins couldn't possibly have been _that_ ghastly.

But I knew there was no arguing with dear old Evy. I might as well try arguing with a camel, though I'm quite sure the camel would take pity on me much sooner than Evy would. I swear, sisters were put on this earth for the sole purpose of driving a man completely mad and getting in the way of all possible fun.

You can probably imagine what happened after Evy made her grave announcement. After making sure I was sobered up (mostly) and dressed respectably in a stuffy old outfit that belonged to Father, Evy dragged me down to the Museum of Antiquities and pleaded with the curator (a miserable old blighter who likely had a scarab beetle up his arse) to let me have some sort of employment. I knew they never would have hired Evy if our parents hadn't given loads of money to the museum, so every time the curator sighed in my general direction or threatened to run me off the premises if I ever misbehaved, I cleverly reminded him of all the generous donations my dear old mum and dad had made.

It must have worked like a charm, because the old codger hired me.

Of course I automatically turned down an offer to work with Evy in the library. All those massive shelves filled with dreary old books seemed like a prison to me. No, instead of library work, the curator gave me a job working for security.

What a dreadful bore _that_ was.

I spent long, tedious hours trying to glare at various old blokes whenever they got a bit too close to the artifacts, but Evy kindly informed me that my glares merely looked like I was squinting.

Well. What does the old girl know about manly glares anyway?

A little word of advice to any chaps out there who are living the free and easy life (you lucky buggers): don't swindle yourself into thinking that work is some sort of respectable, necessary aspect of leading a decent life and all that rot. Thankfully, my career as a security guard was short-lived. I cleverly weaseled my way out of that one when I showed up for work completely plastered. Oh, I could hardly walk, and I woke up with the most beastly headache the next day, but no more security guard duties for me, I tell you. I had had quite enough.

Of course, Evy was beside herself. Called me an abominable drunkard and threw out every drop of liquor she could find in the house, but I went right back to the gaming table and was able to buy some more. Well, after paying a couple of debts here and there, but no matter. (I must note, however, that Egypt is _far_ too bloody serious when it comes to money. A fellow can get knifed in broad daylight just for failing to pay his rent, I tell you!)

Being newly unemployed did have its ups and downs, I'm afraid, and the downs were a downright nuisance, particularly in the form of a certain female relation of mine.

"If you must have your vile habits, then I expect you to support them yourself," Evy informed me after I tried borrowing some money off her.

"What vile habits?" I asked with perfect nonchalance. "It is perfectly ordinary for a gentleman to play a game of cards now and then and whet his appetite with a drink."

"You are not a gentleman, Jonathan, and the ordinary becomes catastrophic when you indulge in these behaviors far beyond excess."

My dearly beloved sister even _talks_ like a book. See what I have to put up with?

"Well then, Evy, I shall attempt, posthaste, to secure the necessary funds to support my lifestyle. And if I haven't got any money within the next fortnight, you have permission to do your worst."

Why no, I can't ever resist gambling, not even with my own sister. Though if you refer to our little deal as a bet, the old girl will have your head.

Now for the question I'm sure you're wondering about: how the deuce did I go about finding money?

It was simpler than you might think. Lucky for me, I still had access to the Museum of Bores, though the curator looked at me as if I had the plague (the great horrid prat) but all I had to do was tell him I was visiting my beloved sister while she bumbled about her duties.

And yes, bumbled is a most accurate word choice. Have you _seen_ how devilishly clumsy she is? Why, when we were children she drove our old governess batty when she knocked the poor woman down a flight of steps. It wasn't a long fall, mind you, but it was certainly enough to startle a few years off the old bird's life.

Once I wheedled my way past that old geezer of a curator, I set myself to the task of borrowing small items here and there that nobody would miss too much.

Oh, come now, don't give me that look. Those dusty artifacts belonged to blokes who have been dead for thousands of years! Once a number of centuries have passed, I don't believe you can call them anyone's property anymore. So yes, my task involved a good deal of _borrowing_.

Some of those artifacts fetched a fine price down at the pubs and casbahs, and I imagine I would have made myself a tidy profit indeed if Evy hadn't grown suspicious. Bet you didn't see that coming, eh?

(Don't get me wrong, though. I do adore Evy dearly, shrewish temperament and all, but don't tell her I said that.)

With my funds running dangerously low again, I had no choice but to seek employment once more, though the very word "employment" is enough to send a shudder through me. Horrid word, isn't it? Sounds like a brutal form of torture devised for the very purpose of sucking out a man's soul.

Evy, bless her meddlesome heart, refused to allow me to seek out work on my own, since she didn't consider borrowing and selling to be an adequate form of business, and dragged me back down to the dusty old Museum of Blithering Gits. And you know what those old codgers did? They sent me out on a dig to "improve my moral character." What a load of bollocks. The miserable geezers obviously wanted me out of the way.

Well, out of their way I got, and would you like to know what I found on all those bloody trips I took out to the bloody desert? I found a good deal of sand and a frightful case of sunburn, that's what.

That's right, I went on dig after dig, breaking my poor overworked back to find some treasure and gold, hoping to become rich beyond my wildest dreams, and I never found as much as a gold speck in that barren wilderness.

Until my fortunes changed, of course, and I was lucky enough to find that puzzle box down in Thebes.

Wait, what do you mean you know the real story about the puzzle box? That _is_ the real story!

Oh, very well. Believe what you must.

There you have it, I suppose. The thrilling tale of my illustrious career. But now that I think of it, the past is much better off forgotten, which means that a good tall drink is in order.

Cheers, and good riddance to work.


End file.
